


Adrenaline Crash

by Grumperella



Series: The Mandalorian - Missing Scenes [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), Adorable Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin Whump, Din fought a TIE fighter with his bare hands and a jetpack, Din shower scene - sorta, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Din Djarin, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, ManDadlorian, Protective Din Djarin, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, foundling adoption vow, no way did he escape without injuries, s1 ep 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28065831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grumperella/pseuds/Grumperella
Summary: Final Chapter added!!The aftermath of S1 Ep 8: Redemption: some Din whump, rest, recovery, and father-son feels. Hurt/Comfort then Fluff because these boys deserve a break.___The Client was dead. He'd taken down Moff Gideon's TIE. Greef had removed the bounty from his head. The kid was safe on his ship, with him. They could finally... rest. For a moment at least. And now that he could breath...Dank Farrik, hehurt.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin, Grogu & Din Djarin
Series: The Mandalorian - Missing Scenes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055501
Comments: 31
Kudos: 383
Collections: Genuary 2021, The Best Adorable Grogu | Baby Yoda Fics, The Best Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda Whump Fics, The Best Parent Din Djarin Fics, The Best of the Best Mandalorian Fics





	1. Adrenaline Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a slice of life one-shot taking place immediately post the S1 Ep. 8 final scene on the Razor Crest. Some mild Din whump and hurt/comfort moments between father & son.

The Mandalorian’s heart constricted as he held the mythosaur skull pendant in his hand, thumb rubbing over the familiar ridges. He swallowed and handed it back to the child.

“Why don’t you hang on to that.”

Gaze lingering on the pendant as the child took it back eagerly, he felt grateful that this one memento of his tribe hadn’t been lost, like so much else. The memory of Mandalorian helmets - _empty, charred, piled like trash_ \- flashed in his mind’s eye. The child simply stared up at him, holding the beskar in his little claws. He worked his jaw, fists clenched.

He couldn’t afford to dwell on his loss… The kid was here, with him, safe. They didn’t die for nothing.

Sighing heavily through his nose, Din turned away from the child to face the ship’s controls, pausing to think. He saw Moff Gideon’s TIE Fighter go down, but without knowing more about what exactly the Imps were after, he still wanted to put as much distance between the kid and Nevarro as possible. Considering his options as he took them out of the planet’s atmosphere, Din finally set a course for the Raioballo sector. Not only was that region of space home to Dantooine and Lah’mu - backwater Outer Rim worlds largely forgotten post the Empire’s fall - but it was also on the other side of the galaxy, meaning he and the kid got to hide in hyperspace for a day or two. After the last few days they’d had, they desperately needed the rest.

Or at least… he did.

Glancing back at the child standing calmly in his crate, it didn’t appear as though the kid was injured or distressed by the harrowing experience they’d just escaped. A part of him was grateful to see the kid so unaffected, but another part was… worried. The short time they’d spent together since he’d rescued the little one from the Imps had been fraught with danger, uncertainty and violence. He didn’t know a lot about kids, but he remembered his own defining childhood experiences with fear and loss… how it had shaped him… scarred him. Somewhere deep down he was afraid that at any moment the trauma of it all would hit the child... and that he would be utterly unqualified to handle it.

The child just gazed back at him with his owlish black eyes, mouthing the mythosaur skull contentedly, drool dripping off one of the horns.

Well, so far, the kid seemed to be taking it all in stride, so he wouldn’t worry about it. Cross that bridge if or when it came up.

The nav computer beeped at him, confirming their route and showing the hyperspace plot with an estimated travel time of 41 standard hours. _Jate_. Din set the controls to auto-pilot and sat back tiredly. Now that they were off that _daworir_ planet and safely in hyperspace, Din felt like his strings had been cut. The adrenaline and willpower that had pushed him through the last few hours had ebbed away… deep exhaustion and _pain_ suddenly taking their place.

 _Dank Farrik,_ he hurt. The bacta spray that IG-11 had applied to his head wound had done its job, it had repaired the brain damage and skull fracture he had _felt_ (good gods he had felt it), but the application had been quick and dirty. That explosion had caused more than just the one injury: his head still throbbed and his back flared with pain from where he’d landed heavily on it, his ribs ached where one of the Imps had managed to catch a fist just below Din’s chestplate; his neck was sore and quickly stiffening as he sat cataloguing his wounds… but worst of all was his right shoulder. When he’d shot out his grapple to catch the TIE fighter, he’d been singularly focused on the job: taking it down. He’d felt the ship pull his arm out of its socket the moment it caught, but he’d pushed through the pain, knowing that if he didn’t disable that blasted thing, Cara, Greef… his foundling… they’d be defenseless. Then, somehow, during his tumbling against the TIE he’d smashed his shoulder against it again and mercifully, luckily, it popped the joint back in. But _stars,_ it still hurt.

Now that he was letting himself feel his battered body, the pain in his right shoulder flared white hot. Clenching his eyes closed beneath his helmet, Din braced his fists against his thighs and breathed in deeply through his nose. Unable to stop the pained groan that escaped as he released the breath, he held stiff, waiting for the wave to pass. He knew he should probably sling his arm… not to mention treat his other wounds… but at the moment Din was finding it difficult to muster the will to move at all. In the past, he would have allowed himself to pass out right there in the pilot’s seat, letting the exhaustion take him and dealing with the rest of it later. 

A soft, sad coo behind him reminded him of why he couldn’t. 

Taking a deep, centering breath, Din opened his eyes and swiveled his chair around to face the small green form. The child sat quietly, but his ears were drooped, eyes sad. The two stared at each other for a long moment and, not for the first time, Din wondered what the kid was thinking. 

Did he think? Did he feel? Sometimes the kid seemed to be pure instinct like any normal toddler, oblivious to the dangers that followed them; yet at other times the boy’s piercing gaze was grave… ancient… and his actions purposeful. The kid was 50 years old after all, he had to be fairly developed to have survived this long, but in truth Din knew nothing about this species or how its young matured. It was hard to tell if the child truly understood or was just reacting... intuiting from the tones and emotions around him. Even if it was just the latter… staring down at those wide, sad eyes, it occurred to Din that maybe the kid could sense his pain, now. 

Or maybe he was overthinking it.

Din sighed and made to stand, suddenly bracing a hand against the side of the ship for support as a wave of dizziness rocked him. He swallowed back another groan. _Ugh_ , everything _hurt_. 

The child made another sad sound, tiny claws now gripping the edge of his crate as he craned his gaze up at the towering armored man.

“I- I’m fine, _ad’ika_.” Din gasped out absently as he let the dizziness pass, modulated voice rough. The responding burble was almost indignant. The bounty hunter shook his head minutely before gazing back down at the kid through his helmet’s visor. Black eyes stared back... then, small arms were reaching up to him. Whether the child was asking for comfort or offering it, Din’s heart clenched in his chest at the trust in that simple gesture.

He hesitated, considering telling the kid to just stay put: he’d need both hands to navigate the ship and any medical supplies… but the pulse of anxiety at the thought, like ice in his veins, told him that he wouldn’t be able to stomach letting the kid out of his sight just then. Not after what they’d just gone through. Not with the child reaching out to him...  
  
 _Kriff, he was whipped_. 

Sighing in resignation, Din reached down with his uninjured arm to scoop up the small bundle, trying not to smile at the delighted trill, before limping tiredly through the cockpit’s door. His trip down the ladder was slow, the creature's small claws gripping the fabric of his cloak while he used both hands to lower himself one rung at a time. Din’s heel hit the floor before he realized it, vision whiting out momentarily when the heavy landing jarred his injuries. Breathing jaggedly through the spell, the bounty hunter shook his head to clear it. 

“Ato?” The little burble by his ear was soft but insistent. 

A gloved hand came up to pat the kid’s back. “ _Ne baatir, naas. Ne baatir_ ,” the man murmured absently as he stepped away from the ladder and limped over to his bunk. Smacking the button on the wall that opened the small space, Din eased himself into a sitting position on the edge, bringing his good arm back up to cradle the bundle of robes against his neck. 

“I’m gonna set you down, kid.” He informed aloud, pulling the toddler away and setting him on the bunk beside his hip.

Now seated again, Din’s eyelids fluttered, exhaustion pulling at him so hard he nearly blacked out on the spot. _No_. No, he needed to at least sling his arm, it was still sensitive and he’d hate himself later if he did something stupid like dislocate it in his sleep because he hadn’t bothered to do something so simple.

Grumbling, the Mandalorian reached up with his good arm and unclasped his cloak from around his neck. It was the closest thing on hand so it would have to do. Blearily tying the ends into a firm knot, Din secured the makeshift sling over his head and gingerly settled his right arm into the tight crook of fabric. Bracing himself, he reached behind his neck to tighten the contraption, hissing through his teeth when it pulled his bent arm flush against his chest.

“ _Mmmph_ ,” he grunted behind tightly sealed lips, tossing his head back as he waited for the worst of the pain to pass. The white hot flare consumed every sense for a pulsing few seconds. As he slowly came back to himself, Din distantly felt two small hands on his hip, pressing against him urgently with small, fearful coos. His gaze shifted down, blackness still tingeing the edges of his vision. Wide, dark eyes met his, now glistening wet with nearly-tears. _Oh no._

“It’s okay… it’s okay… I’m okay.” he murmured thickly, trying to comfort the little one, but his modulated voice was weak even to his own ears. He was barely even aware of what he was saying, just that he couldn’t take the small sounds of distress. Din settled his unhindered hand gently on the child’s head, patting it softly, hoping it was some small assurance. The child merely responded by crawling up over his hip onto his lap, and then up his chest, small claws hooking into his soft body armor and underclothes until he settled in the nook between Din’s left pauldron and neck. Any other time the man would have frozen in awkward surprise, but Din was too tired to overthink the rare physical closeness. He merely raised his hand to cup the tiny back, gently pressing the bundle of robes closer. The child gurgled a soft sound into his neck, burrowing his face into the cloth.

Sighing, and unable to stave off his exhaustion any longer, the Mandalorian let himself fall back slowly until he was lying flat on his cot. His legs were still bent over the edge of his bunk, his helmet and armor was still on, and he still had injuries he could feel littering his body… but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Now that he was horizontal, and with the small warm lump against his neck unbudging, he doubted he could have gotten back up even if he'd wanted to. Din’s eyes slipped closed, his body going lax as exhaustion finally overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued in Chapter 2!
> 
>  **Mando'a translations:**  
>  jate - good  
> daworir - stinking/reeking/rotten  
> Dank Farrik - universal swear word  
> ne baatir, naas - don't worry, it's nothing  
> ad’ika - little one, son


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little recovery and personal time for Mando.

When Din finally woke, nearly 6 hours later, he felt even worse than he had before passing out. Most of the exhaustion was gone, at least - now, it was just stiffness and pain.

“Uggghhhh.” He groaned aloud, barely remembering how he’d even managed to land himself in this state.   
  


The battle, the explosion… the TIE fighter… right.   
  


“ _Dank Farrik_ ,” he hissed into the empty air darkly when he shifted on the cot and felt a stabbing discomfort flare up and down his spine.

When Din was in the presence of others, he preferred to suffer silently. Showing pain meant weakness. Weakness invited death. But here… here alone on his own ship, he’d groan in pain if he kriffing wanted to. And he did. 

“Mmmph,” he huffed out as he twisted towards his uninjured shoulder and attempted to get his left elbow under him. Shooting pains spasmed down his back and his injured arm throbbed. Gasping through the sensations, Din stiffly pushed himself up into a sitting position with his one free arm and looked up to the beaten metal ceiling to blink away the residual flaring discomfort. 

He sighed. Imperials. Moff Gideon. His Covert murdered. Getting injured was just icing on the chor-cake. What had he gotten himself into. 

Getting his breath, and the pain, under control, Din lowered his gaze back down and looked around. He was still half on his cot half hanging out the opening into the cargo bay. When he’d finally slipped into an exhausted sleep the kid had been curled up against him, but now was nowhere to be found… that couldn’t be good. 

Bracing one hand against the door jamb and with great effort, Din slowly stood. He swayed on his feet for a moment, but held fast to the opening. _Kriff_ , every inhale hurt; that was a bruised or cracked rib for sure. After a few more moments of measured breathing, the mercenary finally felt stable enough to let go. 

Steeling himself, Din stepped out into the cargo space and looked around. 

“Kid?” he called. Silence. Worry began to seep through the haze of agony he was pushing down. “ _Ad’ika_?” he called again, this time louder. 

A soft chirp sounded above him and he looked up. The kid's small face and two floppy ears were poking upside down out of the opening into the cockpit space. Visceral relief melted quickly into suspicion.

“What are you getting into up there?” 

“Ehh! Buh!” The child burbled at him, letting loose a delighted giggle as he disappeared back through the opening. Din didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but he figured that if the kid hadn’t crashed them into a planet yet, maybe he didn’t have anything to worry about. Mostly, he was just trying to convince himself that there was no need to climb up the ladder, because even the thought of it made him nauseous. 

“Yeah, yeah. Get down here where I can keep an eye on you, ya womp rat.” Another giggle sounded from further up in the ship. Din sighed. 

“Fine. Just… don’t touch anything.” He called up tiredly. Well, if the kid was keeping himself occupied, maybe that was for the best, because now that he’d gotten some sleep, the bounty hunter couldn’t put off his wounds any longer. And he could still feel the dried blood crusted on his face beneath his helmet. Ugh. He needed a shower. He needed to clean his armor. He needed to address his injuries. Suddenly, the man just wanted to go back to sleep.

Instead, Din turned and leaned against the wall, bracing himself against it as his good arm pressed the key for the fresher door. Stepping inside gingerly, the man closed the door behind him. Slowly and carefully, Din pulled the makeshift sling over his head, hissing and groaning as it shifted his shoulder, then began to methodically remove his armor. Finally, he reached up and pulled off his helmet, setting it on the surface beside the sink. Blinking at the change in light, Din looked at himself blearily. _Dank Farrik_ , he was a mess…

Blood still caked his hairline and where it had dripped from his nose, mouth and ears. His hair was getting longer than he liked it, and it was matted to his forehead from long dried sweat. He wasn’t particularly vain - there was no point - but this was worse than he’d seen himself since the fight with the mudhorn. Despite his soreness, he was now truly looking forward to the shower. 

Stripping off the rest of his cloth body armor, boots and underclothes, Din turned to step into the sonic. While not nearly as relaxing as the few water showers he’d been fortunate enough to experience in his life, the ultrasonic vibrations still had a way of making one feel truly _clean_. He could _feel_ the blood, dirt and sweat being siphoned off his body. Despite the sonic shower only taking moments, when it was done, he felt better. 

Now clean, Din stepped out and looked at himself in the mirror again, using the opportunity to examine his back. _Kriff_. It was basically one giant bruise, purple and yellow mottling his skin from his shoulder blades down to his mid-back. The shoulder that had been dislocated then reset was also an angry black and purple around the joint. Turning back around, Din pressed a finger gingerly against his left rib cage, hissing in through his teeth when he confirmed a cracked rib. The bruise here was acute, making it very clear where the punch had connected. He scowled down at it, then sighed through his nose.

First things first. That shoulder needed to get treated… that was his gun arm: if anything happened, he needed it fully functional.

Gingerly, Din bent to retrieve the med pack he stored by the sink and opened it, shuffling through stim paks, gauze, bacta patches and suture tools until he found the bacta gel packs. He pulled out just enough for his right shoulder, placing the rest back. With slow precision, the Mandalorian applied the gel around the joint, wincing when his fingers pressed too hard. The pain was short lived though, as the recognizable warmth of bacta’s healing power bloomed across the injured area. Din sighed in relief and held still, eyes closed, as he let the gel take effect. Feeling the same warmth on his fingers, the man looked down and quickly wiped what was left on the skin over his cracked rib, frowning at the ache. It wasn’t enough to heal the rib fully, but it was better than nothing.

Pressing on the rib gingerly, Din was momentarily tempted to use a bacta patch... but determinedly squashed the thought. Who knew when he and the kid would be able to stop at a decent port to resupply. Looking back up at himself in the mirror, Din took in the much diminished bruising on his shoulder and chest. He sighed. It would have to do.

Pulling his arms over his head to stretch out the muscles in his back and chest, the bounty hunter groaned self-indulgently at the pronounced soreness. The rest of the injuries would take time to heal, but that’s about all he could do for them. He needed to save what bacta he had left for emergencies only. 

Speaking of bacta, Din leaned his head forward and brushed a palm over the back of his head, carding his fingers through the hair over the mostly healed wound, trying to see it in the mirror. He couldn’t get the right angle, so instead just used his fingers to feel around the head wound to gauge how well it had healed. He could still feel the angry edges of the wound, but it felt closed, and he knew the damage underneath had knitted together fine - he was alive after all. It seemed to be doing alright. 

Sighing again, Din let his hand fall away and looked back at himself in the mirror for another moment. His dark eyes stared back, dark wispy hair already starting to dry. His beard was still relatively short from his last trim. The blood was gone and he looked… alright. Which was good, because he didn’t know if he had it in him for any further grooming.

But… he’d wanted to check. He’d wanted to check because he wanted to look somewhat presentable for when… well.

The child. The armorer had confirmed what he’d known - _felt_ \- for a while now. The child was truly a foundling. And until he found the child’s people, Din was as its father. In a way, it scared him… but it didn’t feel like a burden. In fact, he'd been surprised by how relieved he was to hear the armorer say it aloud, like it was the blessing he’d been waiting for. 

Because he _wanted_ this. 

He didn’t know how long it would take to find the child’s people… and even when they did, he didn’t really want to think about what that meant. In the meantime, it was up to him to raise the kid. To make sure he was protected, cared for… loved. He wanted to do it right. 

That meant performing the adoption vow. Then... if desired, he could show the child his face.

He had never thought this day would come, in truth. He had lived vigorously by the Creed, never imagining any reason that he might remove his helmet before another until the end of his days. The Creed allowed one to remove their helmet with immediate family - a parent or a child. But, while some in the tribe sought out parenthood, having children of their own or eagerly taking in the foundlings brought back from battles, he had never been one of them... had never intended to be. This child had come into his life so unexpectedly... but from the moment he'd first seen him, he couldn't look away. And now that he had the kid, he couldn't imagine his life without him.

So here he stood, not contemplating _if_ he would remove his helmet... but when. He _wanted_ this child to know his face, and he wanted to look upon his _ad’ika_ with his own two eyes, not just through the visor’s HUD.

He shook his head to himself, gripping the edge of the sink, knuckles white. A trembling nervousness coursed through him at the idea.

He wondered absently why his _buir_ had never felt the same. It’s not that he’d felt unwanted, or estranged from his adopted father. The man who had taken him in and raised him had been firm and strong, but warm - at least to him. He raised him following The Way of the Mandalore and the _Resol'nare_ ; he taught him to fight; he taught him to survive. The man, before his warrior’s death, had been someone who Din trusted and shared a great bond with. But the man had never taken off his helmet, even when alone with Din. 

He knew that many _buire_ did. Children spoke of such things to each other, so he knew it wasn’t forbidden, or even uncommon. But his buir never did. Despite Din’s respect for the man, he had always felt that barrier between them, even if he didn’t fully understand what it meant to him at the time. He wouldn’t make that mistake with this child. His child deserved… better. He wanted to give him better. 

He’d do it right though.

Replacing his beskar helmet firmly over his head, Din felt the pulse of nervousness wash through him again until it was tingling in his fingertips. His heart raced as he contemplated the adoption vow.

He'd do it. He just... needed to find the right time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a translations:**  
>  ad’ika - little one, son  
> Resol'nare - Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life  
> buir - mother/father/parent  
> buire - pl. of buir  
> 


	3. The Vow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, THANK YOU everyone for your lovely comments, they really give me life, you guys are the best and even if I didn't respond directly to your comment know that it warmed my heart.
> 
> Anyway, here's the final chapter. (Note: I also edited and expanded the end of Chap 2 if you want to go reread that last bit.) This is pretty short, it really just wraps up this little fic and is mainly adorable, domestic father-son fluff. I apologize for nothing. Enjoy.

With a fresh set of underclothes, his helmet, and his boots donned, Din decided to leave his body armor and _beskar’gam_ in the fresher to clean later. He opened the door with a soft hiss and stepped into the cargo space, scanning the room for his small charge. 

“Ehhh?” A soft coo from the child sounded to his left as a tiny green head poked out from the open sleeping cabin to look at him. Din felt a rush of affection bloom in his chest. 

“Settling in, huh?”

“Ato!” The child tilted his head and clambered down from the bunk to tottle around the corner towards the man, coming up to his boot which he gripped in both hands. He craned his little head back to look up at his protector, wide ears flopping with the movement. The Mandalorian couldn’t help the small smirk that twitched his lips.

“Yeah, I’m here kid. Sorry I took so long. Had to do some maintenance.” 

“Ehhh!” was the only response as little claws tapped against his boot insistently. Chuckling softly, he bent down to snag the child with both hands, lifting him up to his chest. 

Angling his visor down to look at the small face, Din felt the insecurities he’d been pushing down surge back to the front of his thoughts.

Did he even have a right to perform the adoption vow? His mission was to return this kid to his people, not to raise him in The Way… but he was a foundling, _his_ foundling. He couldn’t just hold the kid at arm’s length for who knew how long; the kid deserved better than that, especially after everything he’d been through... But was Din really cut out for this? Surely there was someone better… someone more qualified. He had no real experience with kids, babies even less so. What if he messed up? What if he just made everything worse for the kid? What if, when the kid finally saw his face and realized that he didn’t look like him, that they were so different… maybe he wouldn’t want him. What if… what if the kid was _scared_ of him? What if-

Suddenly, a low grumble sounded from Din’s belly, startling them both. The child’s eyes widened, then he let out a baby-like giggle of agreement and wrapped one three-fingered claw around Din’s thumb, squeezing it. The man’s surprise melted into affection, eyes softening as he wiggled his captured thumb. 

“Well, that was embarrassing, huh?” It occurred to Din that they hadn't eaten anything since he, Cara and Kuiil had broken camp with Greef and those mercenaries on Nevarro the prior morning. They had to have missed at least three meal times then, maybe four… he felt a pang of guilt. “Kriff, if I’m hungry, you must be starving, kid. C’mon, let’s find you some food.”

Din crossed the cargo hold in 2 long strides, kicking loose the hide-away kitchenette from the Razor Crest’s interior wall with his boot. Shifting the kid in his arms to free up his right hand, Din pulled the collapsable table from the wall, folding out the little bench attached to it. Where the metal table piece had been now revealed a compartment in the wall that stored his non-perishable foodstuffs, emergency ration bars and eating-ware. Beside the table, he slid away the cover to another compartment that revealed a shallow counter, a nanowave and small conservator. The Crest had originally been designed with a true sleeping cabin and a small kitchen area, but when he’d retrofitted the ship long ago he’d ripped those spaces out to make room for the carbonite freezing system. Instead he’d turned one of the storage cabinets into a small bunk space and installed a modular fold out kitchenette; it was barebones, but had suited his needs just fine. 

Until the kid had joined him on the ship, he’d never regretted the choice. After leaving Sorgan especially, where the kid had gotten fresh, hot food and plenty of it, he occasionally lamented that the ship was no longer outfitted with a burntop or a gasser to do any real cooking.

With a sigh, Din simply accepted what was and settled the little bundle of brown robes on the bench, hoping he’d stay put. Crouching in front of the mini-conservator, he opened it and grimaced. There was a single muja fruit left from the box Kuiil had brought from Arvala-7, and half a jar of synthmilk. Having the other two sentients plus the blurrg on his ship had depleted his fresh food supplies significantly. He’d hoped to restock on Nevarro before they left, but that trip had clearly not gone to plan...

“Well,” he said aloud to his small charge, “we don’t have much left. But I can probably make you a decent meal. Maybe not the most nutritious, but it’ll fill you up.” Pulling out the synthmilk, Din reached for a small cup and poured some out. Sliding it over to the kid, who was silently watching him with his head cocked, Din pointed to it.

“That’s for you in the meantime, drink up.” Cooing softly, the child reached up and grasped the cup eagerly, pulling it to his face as he took a loud, slurping sip. Din grimaced fondly beneath his helmet as milk dripped down the side of the kid’s face onto the collar of his robes.

“ _Ad’ika_ , you’re making a mess, slow down.” The man crouched and used the edge of his sleeve to wipe at the kid’s face, pressing a finger against the cup to lessen its steep angle and slow the kid’s drinking. His smirk melted away slowly.

“I’m... sorry you had to go so long without a meal. I’ll try not to let it happen again, okay?” The child just gurgled into his milk happily as he took another sip.

Din just shook his head and stood. He pulled out some portion bread from the compartment above the table, pouring out some of the powder into a dish, then adding water. While the bread bloomed into a round loaf, he pulled out the muja fruit and cut it into small pieces. Placing half onto the plate, the hunter sliced a chunk of bread away from the loaf, breaking it into four smaller pieces which he added to the muja fruit. Looking down at the dismal meal, Din sighed. Bread, fruit and milk. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do until they made landfall on Lah’mu. 

“Here you go, kid.” Din settled next to the child on the bench, placing the small plate in front of him. The toddler squealed in excitement and set his cup down, nearly toppling it over, before reaching for a chunk of bread. 

Just as he was about to shove it into his mouth, the child hesitated. Craning his head up to look at the helmeted man seated beside him, the child made an inquiring noise and held the bread up to Din, offering it to him. The Mandalorian’s heart constricted in his chest and he swallowed thickly. The kid had to be starving, but he was still offering his first bite to him.

“No, _ad’ika_ ,” he managed around the lump in his throat, “it’s for you, you eat it.” 

“Uaahh!” the child insisted, trying to push the bread piece higher, towards Din’s helmet. The man sighed and just pressed the kid’s hand away, back towards his own mouth.

“I’m fine, I promise. I’ll eat soon, but you need to eat first.”

Finally accepting the man’s refusal, the child stuffed the bread into his mouth unceremoniously, reaching for a piece of fruit as he chewed loudly. Din chuckled.

“Chew your food, then you can eat the next piece.”

“Bhwawa,” the little form burbled through the chunk of bread in his mouth, not even looking up at his caretaker as he chomped and swallowed and shoved a piece of fruit into his mouth next. 

Watching his foundling eat, Din couldn’t help the feeling of contentment that settled over him. He rested an elbow on the table and leaned his helmet against his fist, ignoring the gnawing of his own stomach. The little creature was chewing and grabbing at the plate, tearing little bits of bread that he could eat more easily, and occasionally looked up at the man beside him, waving little pieces of food and cooing happily before ramming them into his mouth. Din unwittingly felt a smile pull at his lips beneath the helmet. 

Almost as a delayed reaction, relief coursed through the bounty hunter, making his legs and arms feel weak. The kid was really safe. The Client was dead. Moff Gideon was dead. He'd been reinstated to the Guild and the bounty on the kid had been lifted. He could finally… enjoy this. Just enjoy the moment with this special, magic powers wielding, 50-year-old baby who he knew next to nothing about, who the Empire wanted for unknown reasons, and who had utterly stolen Din’s heart. 

His back twinging suddenly as he sat twisted on the small bench, Din shifted his position stiffly, then reached behind himself with both hands to press his knuckles against the twin aches on either side of his spine. As his chest muscles stretched and pulled over his cracked rib at the motion, the Mandalorian winced and let out an involuntary grunt of discomfort. 

The child stilled and looked up at him, dark eyes wide and ears perked up. Pushing the last piece of fruit into his mouth, getting muja juice all over his cheeks and chin in the process, the child used two sticky hands to push himself to his feet on the bench, then waddled over to Din. Pressing little claws against the man’s leg, the pointed green ears drooped as the small face looked up into the emotionless T-visor.

Sighing, Din reached for a napkin and dipped it into the water jug he’d left on the table. Taking the kid’s tiny hands into his own, he proceeded to wipe the stickiness off of each digit and palm, then took the kid’s face gently in his ungloved grip and cleaned the kid’s cheeks and chin. 

“You’re a little womp rat, you know that?” The child cooed and gurgled grumpily, shimmying out of the man’s grip so that he could press against his side again. His expression now was… worried. The man’s shoulders slumped as he tossed the napkin back on the table with another sigh.

“I’m fine, _ad’ika_. Just still a bit sore.” 

The child’s face was reticent, ears stiff and eyes unmoving. After a few moments, the little figure waddled away, taking a last piece of mushed bread from his plate and coming back to his caretaker, holding the food up to him.

“Ehhh?” he offered. Din's stomach growled traitorously and his heart somersaulted. Maybe… maybe now was as good a time as any. 

Maybe he wasn’t the most qualified. Maybe he’d mess this up. He didn’t know. But he wanted to try. He cared about this kid, more than he even wanted to admit to himself. And here the kid was, worrying about his grunts of pain, offering him food when he was hungry. Maybe they were an odd pair, but they seemed to fit together, somehow. They were a clan of two after all… Clan Mudhorn. The thought sent a thrill through him. He was going to do this, then, and he was going to do it right.

“Okay, kid. You win.” 

Din took the small piece of bread from the clawed grip and set it on the table. Then, he picked up the kid and placed him on the table as well, directly in front of the bounty hunter. Now face-to-helmet, large dark eyes peered at him curiously. Din cleared his throat, fiddling with the edges of the child's robe, bracing himself. Finally, he spoke, his voice rough.

“Kid… _ad’ika_ … I don’t know what the last 50 years of your life have been like… but from what I saw on Arvala-7, and on Nevarro, you’ve been in a tough spot. I want you to know that… uh, that’s over now. I’ve got you now, and I’m going to take care of you.” He reached up to hold one of the toddler’s tiny hands.

“Maybe you had a family…,” Din faltered for a moment, _needing_ the kid to understand. “I can’t ever replace the people who have loved you… but… I’m your family too… now.” He took a deep breath, realizing that he was rambling nervously, which was a first for him. 

Deciding he couldn’t stall any longer, the man raised a shaky hand to lift the chin of his helmet. With a hiss, it released its seal and he raised it slowly up and off his head, placing it gently on the table top beside the little body in front of him. Din sat frozen for a moment, just feeling the cool air of the room on his cheeks, and the weight of the child’s palpable stare. Then, he raised his gaze to meet the dark eyes in the tiny face before him. They were the first eyes he’d met with his own since he was a child himself… his heart was pounding in his chest, pulsing in his ears.

“ _Ad’ika…”_ Din swallowed down the trembling emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. He had to do this right. The child just cooed softly, entranced by the helmetless man before him. 

_“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad._ I know your name as my child.” 

There. It was done.

Silently, the little figure regarded him, eyes searching every wrinkle, every freckle, every tuft of beard, as though he understood the gravity of this moment, somehow. After a long minute, the child waddled forward and was reaching out, one tiny claw touching against the man’s cheek softly. Din closed his eyes and clenched his jaw at the sensation. No one had touched him in… years. This child who he’d grown so attached to did so without hesitation, without judgement. He felt his eyes water, though he didn’t fully understand why. Heart in his throat, Din reopened his eyes and brought one hand up to cup the back of the kid’s little head.

“You are my foundling now, and I am your _buir_. I will protect you, and I will care for you. I swear it. Do you understand?” Large dark eyes mere inches from his face, the child chirped and abruptly threw both arms around his head, hugging the man’s face. 

Din couldn’t help the choked laugh that may have been a sob and brought up both hands to hug the child back, holding the small body to his face. He felt overloaded, like he was drowning and couldn’t come up for air.

All he could process in the deluge of emotions was the swell of gratitude, of relief, that washed over him. The kid wasn’t afraid of him, he hadn’t rejected him. 

Pulling away, Din looked at the kid full on again, mouth twitching into a smile. Maker, he’d never _seen_ the kid like this before. He was, frankly, adorable. The green color of his skin was more vibrant, less tinny, and he could see the hint of deep brown in what he had thought were black-as-night eyes. Scooping the kid back into an embrace, he tucked the little body under his chin against his neck and the child cooed again, happily. Din could feel the vibration of the kid’s voice through the his tiny body, pressed close to his skin now, and he could feel the tickle of the light peach fuzz on the kid’s wrinkled head. 

Little arms were hugging him back, the child cooing and making low warbling purring sounds that Din felt more than heard. A warm feeling pressed against the edges of his mind, a sensation he didn’t understand or recognize, except that the warmth eventually pooled and settled in his stomach. 

It had been a long time but he felt… happy. Pulling the kid away from his neck, he looked down at the wide eyes, then reached for the errant piece of bread abandoned on the table and plopped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

The kid chirped excitedly and clapped his hands, as if Din had performed an amazing trick. The man smirked. 

“See, now it’s my turn to eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a translations:**  
>  beskar’gam - Mandalorian armor  
> ad’ika - little one, son  
> buir - mother/father/parent
> 
>  **Star Wars terms used for common household things** (translations, in case they weren't obvious):  
> nanowave - space microwave  
> conservator - space refrigerator  
> synthmilk - synthetic milk, like a soymilk, that has a significantly longer shelf life  
> portion bread - a powdered substance that when combined with water creates a reaction to emulate a freshly risen loaf of bread.  
> burntop - space stove top  
> gasser - space oven
> 
> No joke, these ^ are really Star Wars terms. If you want to reference the full list for your fics, go to the Star Wars fandom wiki /List_of_Star_Wars_equivalents_to_real-world_objects


End file.
